User blog comment:Bartholomew Billberry Bowstring/Mossflower Country & Beyond/@comment-3135907-20110805165539/@comment-3135907-20110805170628

By 3:00 PM the army stops its furtive march and pauses for a breather. That was when the guards did their rounds of the supplies. "AHA! Liddle thieves!" A burly ferret jerks two now grossly fat creatures, a weasel and rat who we all know quite well, out of amid a diminished pile of food and drink. The ferret's companion, a muscled fox with a rugged jawline, deals them both a punch to the stomachs and they wake up, spluttering and groaning. "Yew were stealin' the best food!" says the ferret. "Even Rultnag won't stand fer this!"
 * "Yeah," says the fox evilly smiling at the fat duo.
 * "Er, haha," Flyngall says.
 * Ficclu merely gulps. Then he gets an idea. "We won't tell on yer if yew don't tell on us," he says patting his bulging stomach. "Eat up, mates!" The fox and ferrets look at each other, then at Ficclu, then at the wagon of food. They narrow their eyes, then leap on the cart of food, tearing into biscuits, apples, pears and plums and huge cakes and tarts and fat sandwiches and scones and cheese and wine and ratbrew and...
 * Ficclu and Flyngall exchange glances then stride contentedly to their separate tents. :"Remember, don't tell nobeast,", says Flyn only slightly nervous.
 * "I woon't, yew kin be sure," says Ficclu. "Our stummicks'll 'ave shrunk by then!"